noun Chemistry.
1 alcohol (def. 1).
https://www.dictionary.com/browse/ethanol
A cheer went up “For the Mug!”, seven empty shot glasses crashed down on the table.
I peeled my face off the cold floor, and as I staggered to my feet the wall started to close in as if to embrace me. Oh… Scratch that. It was just my legs giving way.
Succumbing to the inevitable I embraced the wall and slid down to the floor once more. Ok I clearly have gaps in my memory, I conversed with myself. Where am I?? This was not the Hiraeth since the room was too big to be the ship’s bunk.
Tumbling onto my front, I tried to crawl to what I was assuming would be an on-suite. As I wriggled along the floor, the walls swayed and danced around me. “It’s all in your head, buddy,” I kept repeating to myself.
With each wiggle forward, something soft and squishy burrowed deeper against my abdomen. Fumbling underneath me at my jacket, I reached into my pocket and felt something in there. I grabbed at it and brought it up to my face for closer inspection, my eyesight not quite twenty twenty at the present moment. Huh. It was a white foam ball with a blue mug printed on it and writing that said “Hutton Orbital Truckers, For The Mug!”
A memory of a giant man bounding towards me, “You look stressed!” he said, “Are you stressed?” I just stared at him numbly. Pressing a soft white ball into my hand, he continued, “You look like you could use this,” he said before he darted off in a seemingly random direction. “Are you stressed?” I heard him ask somewhere nearby.
Above me a metal bowl jutted out from the wall and I prayed it was a sink. Reaching up and trying to gain purchase, my fingers dipped into liquid. Excellent! We have a wash basin. Using it as a crutch I pulled myself to my feet and saw the added bonus of the basin already full of water. Cupping my hands, I began to scoop the contents over my face in an attempt to wake up and clear this drunken fog.
Sweet Henson, my eyes and nostrils began to burn as citrus enveloped each of my senses. I clamoured backwards into the shower unit, knocking the pressure dial as I reached out to stop myself from landing on the floor. Instead, I was blasted by a freezing cloud of vapour. I began to paw at the walls, desperate to find the temperature dial.
I walked into the venue. I spotted some familiar faces and above the raucous recognisable voices popped. It was a strange notion as I had never met these people before. My only interactions with them were always from behind a holoscreen or an audio broadcast.
I mingled around and tried not to look awkward as i concentrated on my posture, thinking to myself this is probably making me look odder than I felt. More commanders started to filter into the venue with their battered flight suits adorned with fantastical memorabilia from expeditions past and their daring achievements. One chap even had an old-timey flying cap. Another commander lent over to me, gesturing at the flying cap. “That was the first commander to Sagittarius A*,” he said. Amazing! This was the first time since becoming a pilot that I was among my people.
As the liquor flowed, I started working my way into different conversations and was being introduced to the most fascinating commanders possible. I met radio hosts, news anchors, and science folk as well as other adventurous commanders like myself who fight the wars of the Elite and keep them and everyone well stocked in Lavian brandy.
A faint voice suddenly dithered out of the PA system followed by harsh tones of feedback before it was abruptly silenced. Barely audible cursing burst through then transformed into the commanding voice of the Pilot’s Federation of Commanders frontman
“Greetings Commanders, and welcome!”
The Javi Times 